


That Old White Magic

by Lenore



Series: That Old Slippery Slope [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Christmas, F/M, Fluff, Genderswap, Porn, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-27
Updated: 2011-08-27
Packaged: 2017-10-23 03:18:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/245711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lenore/pseuds/Lenore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One last adventure before Dean turns back into a man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Old White Magic

It was just Sam's luck that he stumbled on the secret to reversing Dean's gender hex—magic so stunningly simple he had a good, long moment of embarrassment that he hadn't thought of it sooner—right _after_ he'd bought Dean's utterly unmasculine Christmas present. He suffered through three days of moral turmoil leading up to Christmas Eve before finally deciding to do what Dean himself would have done and keep his mouth shut about the cure until after he'd had a chance to enjoy Dean's present. It was a convenient brand of logic, if not entirely comforting.

The night of, they checked into the usual fleabag and wolfed down their typical lifespan-shortening dinner of cheeseburgers and onion rings. Before Dean could head off to the bathroom for his nightly bubble bath, one of the many disturbing habits he'd developed as a girl, Sam blurted out, "I got you something."

Dean grinned. "What do you know, Sammy? I got you something, too."

"You first." Sam pushed the package at Dean.

Dean laughed and had some fun tormenting Sam by unwrapping it in an exceedingly careful and ladylike fashion.

Finally, he opened the box and looked inside, then glanced up, eyebrow raised. He lifted the panties, filmy white and deceptively innocent looking, and let them dangle from his finger. "You the kind of pervert who likes dirtying up what seems all sweet and wholesome?"

Sam's face went instantly hot, and he stammered out a denial, sputtering indignantly, because, yeah, he was exactly that kind of pervert.

Dean gathered up the box and said, "be right back," and went off to the bathroom with a wink.

Dean's usual taste in unmentionables tended either toward the comedic (he had a matching bra and panty set with Casper the Ghost on them that he found quite hilarious) or more usually, the slutty, thongs and push-up bras, when he bothered with a bra at all, that was. Sam had no quarrel with any of this, but when the door banged open and there was Dean, his gorgeous body anything but innocent in the demure white lace bra, panties a delicate wisp of silk and lace riding low on his hips, the thing that went around his waist that Sam didn't even have a name, straps hanging down from it that held up his stockings—Sam couldn't imagine anything better, not for the life of him.

At some point during his time as a girl, Dean had acquired a pair of white high-heel Mary Janes, and they perfectly completed the not-so-sweet schoolgirl look. He did a little pirouette for Sam. "What do you think?"

Standing there with his mouth hanging was the most honest answer Sam could give and coincidentally all that he was capable of right at that moment.

Dean laughed at him. "Sammy, you really are a little perv, aren't you?" He came closer, his voice all silky as he fluttered his eyelashes at Sam. "I'm glad you like my present."

Always the tease, and Sam had the nearly overpowering desire just to push those filmy little panties out of the way and fuck Dean right there, standing up, filthy and urgent. He managed to rein himself in as much as humanly possible and settled for running a hand along Dean's side. His skin was incredibly soft, paler as a girl than it had been when he was a man. He kissed a path up the milky curve of Dean's throat and along his jaw, and he could feel Dean's breath starting to come quicker, the warmth of his breasts pressed against Sam's chest.

"Your present," Dean said in a strained voice, "before I stop caring."

He stepped out of Sam's arms, even though Sam made grabby hands at him, and reached beneath the bed and came up with a box, messily wrapped. "Did it myself," he declared with a careless smile.

Sam tore into it, more interested in getting back to what they'd been doing than what was inside...at least until he saw his gift.

"You ever wanted to be a star, Sammy?" Dean asked, grinning as Sam took in the digital video camera.

"Dean," he said plaintively, already beginning to sweat.

But Dean wasn't having any of his chickenshit excuses apparently, because he slipped onto the bed, kneeling on the mattress, facing Sam. "Aren't you going to take my picture?" He moved his hands in slow circles over his thighs.

"God," Sam muttered shakily, flipping the on button, not at all surprised to see that the camera was loaded with batteries and ready to go.

Exhibitionism might not have been Sam's thing, but clearly it was Dean's, his hands gliding upwards to his breasts. He stared right at the camera, at _Sam_ , his expression so frank and shameless it was more pornographic almost than what he was doing, flirting a finger over his breast, following the line of the bra cup, an obvious invitation.

"You just going to watch me touch myself, Sammy?" Dean gave him an appraising once-over. "Or do you want to be the one to take all this fancy underwear off me?"

Face of an angel, and that filthy, filthy mouth, and the overwhelming desire to fuck him was making a strong resurgence. Sam went to set down the camera, but Dean nodded his head toward the closet. "Tripod." His smile was almost as sinful as the promises his body was making.

Sam dragged out the piece of equipment, and fortunately it seemed to have been made with horny idiots in mind, because he had it set up in no time.

"Come 'ere," Dean said when Sam was done, with a smile on his pretty mouth and the best kind of mischief brewing in his eyes.

Sam flung off his shirt and knelt on the bed, pressing himself against Dean's back, raining kisses onto his neck, stroking his hands over Dean's lace-covered breasts.

"Make a pretty picture for me, Sammy," Dean moaned as Sam flicked open the clasp to his bra.

There was a mirror directly across from the bed, and in it, Sam could see what the camera must be capturing, how brown his hands looked on Dean's skin, how huge as they moved over Dean's slim body, thumbing his rosy nipples that hardened at his touch, stroking the soft curves of his breasts.

He settled Dean back against the pillows, and Dean parted his legs with a saucy grin, and Sam settled in the space made for him. He ran his fingertips very lightly up the silk stockings and pressed a kiss to the bare skin just above them, first one thigh and then the other, exhaling against sensitive flesh. Dean squirmed—there was nothing he liked more than having Sam go down on him—but Sam had gotten a second wind of patience. He made a slow, teasing production of unsnapping each garter, kissed Dean's thighs thoroughly and rubbed his cheek against Dean's mound, breathing in the sweet, feminine scent of his arousal. Dean made a desperate little mewling noise that Sam would have teased him about if it hadn't been so hot, and he tongued Dean's clit through his panties. The silk was already wet.

"Please," Dean's voice broke.

There was no resisting that, and Sam pushed the fabric out of the way, used his lips and then his tongue and finally his fingers. The last time he'd ever get to do this, and he gave it everything he had. Dean came and came and came until he was shaking like he might fly apart.

Sam stretched out beside him and kissed lazily. Dean liked to taste himself in Sam's mouth, and Sam caressed the curve of his hip as they lingered.

Dean touched Sam's face with his fingers. "Okay. Your turn." He was still out of breath.

He pushed Sam onto his back and shucked off his jeans and underwear, knelt beside him, head bent, licking tentatively at Sam's dick.

Sam laid a hand on the back of his neck, stroking the soft hair at his nape. "You don't have to." Dean had never said so, but Sam had a good idea this wasn't his favorite thing.

"I want to," Dean insisted, no less stubborn now than when his Y-chromosome had been more in evidence. "I just don't know how girls give blowjobs when they have these tiny little mouths."

Sam stroked his back, and Dean tried different angles, and then he seemed to get the hang of it, sucking on the head of Sam's dick, hand wrapped around the shaft, moving in counterpoint. Sam craned his neck, so he could watch. The expression of concentration on his brother's face sent a fresh flash of lust careening around in his gut. He pushed up onto his elbow, so he could see the mirror, and stared. It was like he was both participant and voyeur, the feel of Dean's tongue on him and the picture of him going down, and Sam probably would have come right then if Dean hadn't pulled off.

"You're going to fuck me," Dean announced before Sam could so much as whimper in protest.

This was a good plan too, Sam quickly decided, and he scrambled up and peeled Dean's panties off and started to reach for his Mary Janes.

Dean told him, "No, leave those on."

Sam's dick jerked, and he sucked in a shaky breath. Nobody had surer instincts for porn than his brother. "So, um, how do you want to do this?"

"I want you to fuck me for the camera and then I want you to fuck me for real."

"You are going to kill me," Sam muttered under his breath, but he was already sliding around behind Dean, grabbing for a condom. He rolled it on and pulled Dean into his lap, onto his cock.

"Saaaaaammy," Dean moaned as Sam entered him.

"Spread your thighs more," Sam breathed into his hair. "You know you like to show off your pussy."

Dean's laugh was low and throaty. "You get a mouth on you when you get horny, you know that, Sammy?"

But he did open his knees wider, and Sam stared into the mirror a moment, admiring, and then he began to stroke Dean's clit in time to his thrusts.

"Don't come yet," Dean begged, even as he was coming. "Not yet."

Sam pulled Dean off his cock and laid him out on the bed, moved on top of him and pushed inside again. Dean wrapped his legs around Sam's waist, and Sam kissed him as desperately as he was fucking him. The last time they'd ever do this, and he whispered, "I love you."

He was afraid it was true in far too many ways.

Dean smiled and kissed back and said, "Love you too, Sammy."

And Sam came.

Afterwards, Sam turned off the camera and they lay tangled together, Sam smoothing a hand along Dean's arm, pressing kisses into his hair, lingering over each one, because it would be the last time for this, too. At last, he took a breath and made himself say it, "I got you something else."

He reached into the drawer of the beside table, and he felt Dean pull away, and when he went to hand over the small box, Dean handed him one, too.

Sam frowned as he opened it and then frowned harder when he saw what was inside, a sprig of yarrow, the ancient Greek symbol for masculinity, the same thing Sam had just given Dean. "How long have you known?"

Dean shrugged. "Few weeks."

" _Weeks_?"

Dean smiled. "I thought the whole 'sleep with it under my pillow, turn back into a man by morning' thing would be more dramatic if it happened on Christmas."

"I can't believe you," Sam said, rolling his eyes.

Dean slipped the herb beneath his pillowcase. "If I do the ritual with double the dose, do you think I'll get super powers or something?"

Sam narrowed his eyes, and Dean laughed. "Just kidding, Sammy. Just kidding."

"Get some sleep, okay?" Sam told him.

Dean yawned right on cue, and snuggled down under the covers. "You never did say how long _you've_ known about the antidote," he mumbled sleepily.

Sam didn't answer, and a moment later Dean was out.

There was a part of Sam that couldn't quite believe such a rudimentary spell could cause such a profound transformation, but sure enough, the next morning he woke up with Dean's erection nudging his thigh. This was world-altering is so many ways, and he started to inch away, and expected Dean to mumble some joke and go put on some pants. But Dean was always hard to anticipate, and he gave Sam a long, appraising look before cupping his jaw and kissing him soundly.

"Got my dick back, and guess what? I still love you," Dean told him.

Sam blinked. "So...that wasn't the last time then?"

Dean broke into a grin. "That's my brother. The genius."


End file.
